


Lance, stop blushing

by starsandcoffee



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Eventual relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gay Keith (Voltron), Keith really likes plants, Lance is in astrophysics, Lance just keeps blushing, Love at First Sight, M/M, Really minor mentions of blood in the first chapter, SO MUCH FLUFF, gardener!Keith, manbun Keith lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 18:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11065053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandcoffee/pseuds/starsandcoffee
Summary: Lance thought that all those comics where characters walked into something because they were staring at a girl were dumb. That is, until he saw Keith.(Keith works in a garden, Lance is so shook)





	Lance, stop blushing

**Author's Note:**

> Just some fluff I wanted to get out of my system!
> 
> \- Check out my other multichapter fics and oneshots - I've got a few up now!  
> \- Also, I have a tumblr now (as I fall deeper and deeper into Voltron hell) -- https://stars-and-coffee.tumblr.com/  
> \- Please send me prompts there etc or just come to scream about Klance/whatever  
> \- Hit me up on Twitter @queenbrekker too if you want.
> 
> Enjoy <3

“Yes, dude, I’m coming right now!” exclaims Lance, trying to steer his crappy, rusted bike down the street with one hand and hold his phone with the other. Hunk’s deep voice comes back down the line, sounding mildly panicked. He’s been chasing after this girl — Shay — for weeks and she’s finally started talking to him. From what Lance has heard, Hunk is in some coffee-shop bathroom panicking, just because he’s apparently completely lost the ability to speak to her in coherent English. “The problem is her eyes! They’re luminous and it makes it hard,” whines Hunk, waxing poetic. “They’re distracting!”

“You’re distracting,” replies Lance, swerving as he nearly hits a pothole. “I’ll be there ASAP, just go and make small talk,” he says, and hangs up his phone. Hunk is so far gone that it’s almost funny, but Lance has seen him fuck up more than one potential relationship with his nervous babbling, so he wants to get there as soon as possible and act like a buffer. 

He’s apparently cursed, though: on his way to the cafe, he took some mildly wrong turn and now he’s pedalling as fast as he can down some random street which seems like it belongs in some fancy East Coast town. The houses lining it are tall and regal, complete with sweeping balconies, manicured lawns, and probably resident staff. Lance swears he even sees a place with parapets.

Despite the obvious affluence of the place, the streets are near-deserted. He’s wondering if there was an apocalypse in the rich section of town when he notices a figure in the distance, bent over a flowerbed. Lance figures it’s another live-in gardener — he’s seen a bunch already — and doesn’t pay much attention.

As Lance gets closer, he sees the guy straighten up. _Oh my god_ , he thinks, snickering mentally, _is that a man bun?_ Indeed, the boy — who looks about Lance’s age — is sweeping the top half of his dark, sweaty hair up into a messy bun, exposing his high cheekbones and pale skin. _Oh boy,_ thinks Lance, earlier derision changing to something a little different. He’s surprised by how pale he is: you’d think that somebody who works all day in the summer sun would have at least a bit of a tan, but this guy is so pale. It works for him somehow, though. 

The mystery gardener stretches his arms up over his head, and Lance has the pleasure of noticing that instead of a normal gardening uniform, he’s dressed in a dark red crop top and black jeans. His stretch exposes his stomach and surprisingly defined abs. _Dios,_ thinks Lance, _that’s not a normal garden worker_. 

Eventually, the guy looks up and sees Lance, riding as slowly as he can and staring pretty obviously. Lance feels like he’s been caught doing something illegal, but he figures he might as well make the most of it. He winks exaggeratedly and flashes a grin at the guy. 

Lance feels like the smoothest motherfucker to ever exist. He registers the guy’s expression change from mild embarrassment to surprise, and figures it must be because he’s that damn hot. Then he runs into a telephone pole.

It’s not like he bumps his front wheel dignifiedly into the post, either. He does a full-on, cartoon-like crash, and the last thing he remembers thinking before everything goes black is _I guess that’s why he was surprised._

Lance wakes up a moment later to a nose gushing blood and the gardener guy leaning over him, looking even paler and more than slightly panicked. “Holy fuck, dude,” he says. “Are you ok? I think your nose is broken. ” Lance sits up, groaning. _What has my life become?_ he asks himself, contemplating the fact that he’s just wrecked his nose and probably his bike because he was checking out a hot guy.

He tries to say that he’s fine, but he only ends up choking on his blood. _Not smooth, McClain,_ he thinks. He must look pretty bad, because the gardener guy suddenly has a hand on his back and is tilting his head forward. Lance can’t help but notice that he has the faintest freckles across the bridge of his nose. “Do you need to go to a clinic?” asks the guy, who obviously doesn’t like blood. “Oh my god,” he continues, “you just broke your nose because of me and I don’t even know your name!” Lance is charmed by his evident worry. “Lance McClain at your service,” he says, but the sexiness of his line is diminished by how nasal his voice sounds. “Ok,” says the guy, trying to calm himself down, “I’m Keith!” Lance stares up at him. His name is kind of incongruous with his appearance, but he decides it works. 

He’s probably looking kind of shellshocked because Keith looks pretty worried. “Do you need an ambulance?” he asks. Lance tries to laugh, but it hurts like hell. “Dude, my nose isn’t even broken,” he says, grabbing it with a hand and trying to move it to prove his point. It actually isn’t broken, but he definitely feels something weird around his ribs when he moves his hand. “Shit!” he yelps, “I think my ribs have problems.”

Keith rakes a hand through his raven hair — Lance smells the faintest hint of citrus shampoo. “Let’s go back to my place and stop the bleeding, ok?” Lance looks around at the houses lining the street — clean verandas, large windows, modern designs, expansive gardens — and thinks that he wouldn’t have pegged Keith as the kind of person to live in such a snooty area. 

Keith extends a hand to Lance and he stares at it for a minute before realizing he’s being helped up. He stumbles to his feet, sucking in a breath as he feels his ribs do something weird, and moves to pick up his bike. Before he can, though, Keith has slung it over his shoulder.

Lance is caught by surprise for what feels like the fifth time that day. He can see Keith’s muscles shift under his shirt, and he grudgingly notices that he has a _really_ nice ass. Keith moves off over the perfectly trimmed lawn, but Lance stands still. Eventually, Keith turns around and finds Lance motionless, staring dumbly at him. _Get it together,_ thinks Lance, mentally slapping himself. 

He snaps out of it and follows after Keith, walking gingerly to avoid more pain. They cut across the grass and Lance expects to enter the palatial mansion at some point, but instead Keith appears to be heading towards a small, yellow house nestled in between a couple of tall trees. It’s quite a cute place: there are well-tended planters set on the porch, spilling flowers in every colour, and the house even has little white-painted shutters. Lance is surprised at the domesticity of it all. “This your place?” Lance asks, confused.

“Yeah,” explains Keith. “I tend all the gardens here for free in exchange for board — there’s a really old couple living inside and they basically never talk to me. It’s cheaper than living on campus.” “Oh, do you go to Voltron U too?” “Yeah,” says Keith, “do you?” “Yep, but I’ve never seen you around. What do you study?” “I do astrophysics,” explains Lance. Keith tells Lance that he’s doing a double major in molecular biology and horticulture because he just can’t decide. 

As they’re talking, Keith unlocks and pushes open the door to the tiny cottage. Inside, Lance is met with a veritable explosion of plants and a hugely fat cat, who mews and coils around his leg. “Red, this is Lance,” says Keith, making an exaggerated introduction. “Lance, this is Red, my cat. The vet has informed me she’s morbidly obese, but that doesn’t bother her.” He reaches down to scratch the cat behind her ears, making stupidly cute cooing noises. 

Lance sits down at the kitchen table. His nose has mostly stopped bleeding, but his ribs still hurt when he breathe. “Dude, I think I cracked a rib,” he says to Keith, and Keith pulls out an old-fashioned white laptop. “C’mon, we’ll WebMD you,” he says. “What are your symptoms?” Lance shrugs. “It basically just hurts when I breathe,” he explains. “Ok,” says Keith, typing. “Wait, it says it wants your pulse.” Without hesitation, he stands up and walks over to Lance, stopping just a little too close. He picks up Lance’s hand and turns it over. His skin is soft and warm, and Lance feels his breath catch involuntarily. _Shit_ , he thinks, _calm down calm down calm down._ “Whoa,” says Keith, “your pulse is pretty fast.” _I wonder why?_ thinks Lance sarcastically, but says nothing.

Keith sits down and types in his symptoms. “Ok, Lance,” he starts. “You have…” he trails off, giggling. “You have either Hepatitis A, a drug overdose, or” — he snorts, undignified — “colon polyps!” Keith can’t take it any more and doubles over, snorting with laughter. Lance can’t believe that such stupid laughs could come out of such a graceful person: Keith sounds like a fucking pig when he laughs. Lance is trying so hard not to giggle, mostly because his ribs hurt every time he breathes. “Shut up, asshole,” he yells. “My ribs fucking hurt and I don’t have colon polyps!”

Keith collects himself. “Maybe one is cracked,” he says. “That happened to me when I was younger and I remember it really hurting.” “How’d you break it?” asks Lance, curious. “Uhh,” replies Keith, “I was at a karate tournament and I let my guard down.” “You did karate?” says Lance, impressed. “Yeah,” — Keith gestures at a giant rack of trophies and medals — “I was pretty good. Hey, speaking of broken ribs, why _did_ you run into that pole? Are you just really bad at biking?” Lance feels himself blush and regrets it immediately. “Uhh, I was just distracted,” he says, knowing it’s a feeble excuse as he says it. Fortunately, though, Keith doesn’t pry, just raises an eyebrow. They fall into comfortable small talk — it feels like they’ve known each other a lot longer than twenty minutes. 

They’ve been talking for a couple minutes when suddenly, Lance remembers about Hunk and his SOS. “Shit!” he exclaims, and pulls out his phone. The screen is cracked, but it still works. He opens his messages to find at least ten from Hunk. 

_1:57 pm_

**Best Bro:** dudedudedude you need to come now I’m losing it here

_2:01 pm_

**Best Bro:** hey man I can only hide in the bathroom for a couple more minutes before she thinks I’m either sick or insane

_2:02 pm_

**Best Bro:** well, I’m heading back out. pray for me pls

_2:06 pm_

**Best Bro:** ghghghhghghghg

_2:12 pm_

**Best Bro:** bro idk what happened to u but the SOS is off

**Best Bro:** things are actually going ok :)

_2:16 pm_

**Best Bro:** ok I’m mildly worried now

**Best Bro:** looks like Shay and I are gonna be here for a while (she’s showing me her art!) so pls come asap so I don’t have to call the cops

_2:32 pm_

**Best Bro:** c’mon man???

 

“Fuck!” exclaims Lance, jumping up and then hissing in pain. “Everything ok?” asks Keith, concerned. “It’s good, just I was supposed to meet my friend and now he’s worried…” explains Lance. He’s about to send a quick text to Hunk when his phone flashes a low-battery symbol and then dies. “Shiiiiit!” cries Lance. “Why do I never charge this thing?” 

Keith stands up as well. “Dude, do you just want me to drive you?” he asks. “My car is out back and I don’t want you to have to walk. I still feel bad about your mysterious” — he winks — “pole accident.” Lance feels his stupid cheeks turn red again, but he figures it’s in his best interests to accept the ride. He ignores his traitorous blush and says “sure, that would be good.

Keith loads Lance’s wrecked bike into his trunk and opens the passenger door for him. His car is obviously ancient, but it’s treated with a lot of love: the cracked leather seats are well-oiled and it has a shiny red paint job. Lance eases himself gently into the seat. “After you see your friend you should probably go to a clinic,” advises Keith.

He turns the key in the ignition and the car coughs to life. The radio comes on, playing some emo music at an embarrassingly loud volume. Keith slams it off, looking mildly embarrassed, and they drive to the coffee shop, sitting in comfortable silence or making small talk. 

Ten minutes, Keith pulls up outside the door. “Here you are,” he says. “Again, sorry for your accident…” he trails off, smirking. “It wasn’t your fault!” yelps Lance, but he can’t stop his fiftieth blush of the day. “I think Hunk — my friend — can take me to the clinic from here, but thanks for the help,” he says, and moves to get out of the car. 

“Wait!” says Keith. He pulls a red Sharpie out of the glove compartment and grabs Lance’s hand. Without asking, he scrawls a phone number in messy print. “Just in case you want to talk again,” he explains, and Lance blushes _again_. All of his smooth pickup lines desert him at once. “Can I call you tonight?” he blurts, then regrets it. “Sure,” smiles Keith, and Lance gets to see _him_ blush for the first time (it feels like a victory). 

**Author's Note:**

> Couple more chapters of this coming (there WILL be a picnic in the gardens where they look at stars or I'm not klance trash)


End file.
